


a hero becomes a villan

by BOYMACHINE4



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: F/M, First Person, Living Together, Vilbur, Villain Wilbur Soot, will add more tags soon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BOYMACHINE4/pseuds/BOYMACHINE4
Summary: you come back home to find wilbur -the sweet boy you had taken under your roof after a huge battle- with a very shocking character development.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/Reader, Wilbur Soot/You
Kudos: 32





	a hero becomes a villan

**Author's Note:**

> haii i hope u enjoy this read, i might continue in the future if people like it<3
> 
> for a bit of context this is around the part that l’manberg is starting to become a threat to the higher powers and the beginning of vilbur’s arc. at least thats what i imagine. you can interpret it however you’d like though.
> 
> note that this story is about the character wilbur plays, not him in real life.

the gentle wind ran its fingers through my damp hair as i trudged through mud and puddles. i watched the wind pluck the bronzed leaves from their frayed branches, taking them with it in the air. when i passed under trees they dropped fat blobs on water on me, rustling like laughter. the sound of my heels rhythmically hitting the forest floor was almost soothing. it was late autumn, and the cold was finally setting in for the year. i shivered, tucking my chin further into my muffler and gripping my iron axe tighter. the firewood carrier i donned dug into my shoulders and i willed my feet to move faster in order to make it back to the small cabin i shared with wilbur. he decided to stay with me for a few weeks, to get away from the violence and the stress of the inner city.  
i had offered to go collect wood, as the fire had began to dim in our cozy lodging. at first he was against the idea of me out in the cold alone, the evening darkening by the minute and the beginning of a storm sending strong winds through the trees and down the chimney, howling. but i had placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and told him to rest. he was pretty badly beaten up in the last battle, the purple bruises on his face only just starting to fade and his fractured rib healing by itself because we ran out of heal potions. he gave me a grateful look, settling back down by the fire. i was more than happy to let wil live with me, i always had a soft spot for the lanky brunette and his boyish grin.  
it was only as i couldn’t see far into the forest beside me that i saw the smoke billowing out of the top of the cabin. i gave a relieved sigh. i really didn’t want to be caught in the storm with no armour, only the clothes on my back and an iron axe to my name.  
i hurried my footing and opening the wooden door of the house. instantly i was met with the intense heat of the fireplace, and the woody smell of it’s dwindling fire filling my nose. i closed the door behind me with my foot, dropping my axe to the floor and unstrapping the carrier from my back.  
“wilbur?” i called out, noticing the empty space in the blanket net by the fire where i had left him.  
not bothering to remove my boots, i clunked on the stone floor, throwing a few logs in the fire and leaving the rest in a basket beside the hearth.  
absentmindedly, i tried to pull the splinters from my fingers with my teeth as i looked for wilbur. where could’ve he gone? i grasped a pre-lit lantern from the side cupboard, holding it out in front of me.  
i checked the bedroom first, casting shadows over the un-made bed and small table, cluttered with books and maps and broken compasses. after knocking a few times on the sturdy door frame, i turned the handle of the bathroom, which was also empty. the only thing that greeted me was the slow dripping of the sink faucet, which i tightened and then closed the bathroom. then i noticed the door of the back-room, the room i keep locked at all times, was ajar.  
my stomach dropped. what if president jshit had sent his little minions and found wil? my heart began to race as i opened the side cupboard of the hallway, gently taking the almost blunt iron-dagger from inside, replacing it with the lantern-blowing it out. should’ve sharpened this damn thing, i silently cursed myself. cautiously, i crept down the corridor which was blanketed in darkness, the only light coming from the fire in the front room. the small gap between the door frame and door was leering at me, taunting my trembling hand which held the dagger in front of me and the lip in between my teeth. i sucked in a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever was or wasn’t behind the door. the sudden rush of adrenalin that pumped through my veins was just what i needed, giving me the confidence to grip the dagger and kick the door open fully.  
holding my breath, i searched the pitch black room desperately with my eyes, unable to see anything but the dagger in front of me. my gaze darted around all the corners and walls of the room until i detected a small movement in the far corner. the rustling of clothing, as quiet as it was, sounded out in the empty house, the crackling of the fire sounding miles away.  
“who’s there?” you demanded, trying but failing to make your voice steady, the quiver in your voice evident for whatever was in your backroom. the backroom you keep your weapons, your explosives, armour, pretty much everything dangerous from the few times you had joined wil and his fellow revolters in their many battles. finally, the thing moved, raising up taller and taller. oh god, i panicked. it loomed over my frame and i couldn’t help the shallow fearful breaths i gasped. it moved toward me, it’s footsteps solid and thudding. i was frozen, the dagger slipping from my hands, clattering to the ground, my knees shaking. my eyes were wide and i couldn’t tear myself away from the figure advancing steadily towards me. it was silent, and gave off no hints that it was an enemy or not. but my instincts screamed at me to run hide fight all that nonsense. but instead i just whispered, barely audible.  
“please..”  
i wasn’t sure what i was begging the shadow for. to spare me? to be gentle with me? to get it over with? the figure stopped, only inches away from me. the anticipation in the air was thicker that whipped cream and at that moment i wished it would get it over with.

finally, it spoke.  
“why are you back so early?”  
it took me a second to register the low mellow voice of honey that was wilbur soot’s. and i sighed in relief, dropping to my knees out of emotional exhaustion. i laughed nervously, beginning to speak breathlessly “wil you....” something was wrong and it stole tje words from my tongue. the tone of his voice wasn’t kind or patient, like it was as it thanked me for going to get firewood, or tending to his wounds, or feeding him mushroom stew. no, it was colder than the gusts of wind outside. it was bitter. it hurt. wilbur didn’t kneel beside me, apologising for startling me, asking me if i was okay. no. he stood above me. suddenly i felt extremely uneasy, my heart pounding in my ears. i knew it was wilbur. it was his voice and i could recognise the delicate smell of my soap on his hair and his skin. but why - instead of the soft warmth he usually gave off - did he radiate such harsh, dangerous intent. for these reasons i did not feel as relieved as i was. he striked a match against the door frame behind me, causing me to flinch. then i saw his face. deep, sunked in eyes that once were a gentle brown now almost black and bloodshot his mouth was curled into a sinister, unhinged grin, baring his teeth like a wild animal. his brown locks were astray and beanie-less. his long gray trench coat swayed with movement as he revealed a very large, very sharp netherite sword from behind him. “w-wil...?” i squeaked, eyes widening as i watched him swing for me helplessly. the last thing i remeber before being knocked around the head with the handle of wilbur’s sword was the wild look in his eyes before everything went black.


End file.
